


Rudyard Ruins The Rescue Mission

by Melanie_D_Peony



Series: Rudyard Ruins EVERYTHING [3]
Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Between Episodes, Between Seasons/Series, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Heads up for SPOILERS and reappropriating canon text for my selfish purposes, I just need it to feel earned, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Melodrama, Mention of illness and injury, Mild Language, One Shot, Romance, Sir this is MY emotional support project so I get to make the rules, Slow Burn, Stand Alone, Takes place right after "The trouble with Rudyard", Think speed of continents peeps, Warning for super SLOWburn, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony
Summary: Rudyard Funn runs a funeral home in the village of Piffling Vale. It used to be the only one. It isn't any more. With Eric Chapman around, Rudyard never wins. But Rudyard is a proud man and in the face of adversity, he applies logic and good old fashioned stiff upper lip. He needs nobody's pity, just his keep calm and stop crying, sort it out and come back on Monday, common sense. With that being said, even Rudyard wouldn't prioritise his dignity over preserving his life.After all, even Rudyard couldn't ruin a rescue mission.Surely.
Relationships: Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn
Series: Rudyard Ruins EVERYTHING [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003398
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Rudyard Ruins The Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:**

> In which some conflicted feelings are depicted slowly, passionately and with subtitles

Now then, where did I leave off?

'All right Antigone, roll the film. And thank you.'

'Don’t mention it, Rudyard.' 

Yes, there we go. Rudyard had fallen into a well where only luck and a Bruno mattress preserved him from certain death. But since his brush with perishing prematurely, he recovered a great deal and he'd begun to organise his own rescue mission. The wheels of bureaucracy had been brought to a grinding halt by Mayor Desmond's fortnightly blackjack tournament, however, and the attempt to retrieve Rudyard from the well had been delayed indefinitely. I abandoned a promising French feature to support my friend in his hour of need. I found him on the phone, with his sister, bonding over a night spent separately, yet together. 

'If only I had some popcorn.' Sighed Rudyard wistfully as he was getting comfortable on his soggy mattress, waiting for Antigone to start reading the subtitles. I discreetly rustled the bag I carried over with some difficulty, teasing out a rare smile on Rudyard's features.

'Oh, Madeleine you star.' He sighed reverently.

But as he reclined with his savoury snack something must have come unstuck in the old rotary phone, kept down in the well, because the line cut out abruptly.

'Hallo, Antigone? Antigone? Antigone?' Rudyard yelled uselessly down on the speaker. He began punching in the Piffling Royal's number, muttering to himself throughout. 'In the name of flipping… bloody… stupid… Antigone?!'

I made a suggestion as to how to proceed, but Rudyard waved his hand despondently.

'It's no use, Madeleine, the line is dead. Typical.' Furrowing his brows he tucked his knees under his chin and stared into the dim of the well that was degrees less welcoming without Antigone's voice to keep him company. He tried, however, to tap into that signature Funn stubbornness of his. 'Oh well. I suppose it could be worse. At least in here, there's nothing to irritate me, no one to disappoint me, no unavoidable accidents waiting to happen. Since you are here and we've still got some popcorn I think I can be quite content. In the dark. The peace and quiet. Alone.'

But we didn't even have a moment to contemplate the silence of the depth of the well, only highlighted by the slow metronome of the dripping water, when a cheerful, hearty call shattered our equilibrium.

'Rudyard!'

'CHAPMAN!' 

The reflexive hatred mingled in Rudyard's voice with equal measure relief and disbelief over finding his nemesis above ground. He was quick to recover some of his usual modicum of disdain, however. 

'Bit parky down there isn’t it?' Eric needlessly observed, his head disappearing behind the rim of the well from time to time as he was clearly arranging something up there.

'Oh God, it’s you!' Moaned Rudyard with practised contempt. 

'I'll get you out in a jiffy!' Chapman promised, only eliciting more derision.

'No, I don’t want to!'

'Rudyard, stop mucking about!' Eric scolded, sounding somewhat bemused.

'What are you doing here, Chapman? Didn't you say that the council isn't going to decide on rescuing me until tomorrow?'

'Right you are.' Agreed Eric, sounding a tiny bit apologetic. 'But then I began to worry that you'll contract pneumonia in the cold and the wet.'

'I don’t need your pity!' Rudyard declared and he continued to sit passively on the mattress even as Eric lobbed a length of rope down the well. 'Besides you wouldn't miss me. With me out of the way you can simply take over Piffling whenever you want.' 

'Don't be ridiculous.' Eric said, sounding for a moment as if he was protesting the idea of not missing Rudyard. He continued, however, only to quickly shatter the illusion. 'I already corner the entire funeral market. So you dying down there would only be a stupid waste. Now grab hold of the rope.'

'Go away!'

'Listen, are you coming out or not?'

'No, I'm fine.'

'For God’s sake, you can’t even be rescued properly. I'm coming down.' Throwing his legs over the brim of the well and around the rope, Chapman lowered himself with ease and elegance. He came to a standstill in front of his sulking nemesis, drinking in the musty air of the hole like he was a triumphant mountaineer scaling the Pyrenees. 'Hello there, Rudyard!' 

'Now look here, Chapman.' Rudyard glared. 'What's the big idea?' 

'Look, we can either stand here and catch our death in the cold or go back to mine and I’ll get my chefs to rustle up that dinner after all. It’s your call.' 

Chapman gallantly stretched out a hand and Rudyard studied his inviting, manicured right before entrusting his own, narrow, calloused palm in it.

'Oh, fine.' He grumbled as Eric pulled him to his feet.

'That’s the spirit, Rudyard!' Chapman beamed at him.

'But I still want that apple crumble.'

Eric was probably going to say something witty to what sounded like a remark to an earlier conversation. But we were interrupted, once more, by a persistent and extremely familiar barking sound. 

Front paws resting right by where the rope was stretching over the well's rim, stood Miss Scruple's new pet, a messy little mongrel known to most as Rolo. 

'Look, Rudyard, it's Rolo.' Eric cried out, delighted to see what he believed to be a sympathetic former pet. He began cooing at the puppy as some people, with no healthy bouts of self-respect, do. 'Hey there, Rolo. Aren't you a good boy Rolo? Aren't you Rolo? Yes, you are. Ye-es!'

'Astonishing.' As Chapman continued to gush over the slathering beast Rudyard asked an unrelated but nonetheless quite important question. 'Wait a moment, Chapman. Isn't he nibbling on the rope?'

And alas, the pup was indeed in the process of sharpening his teeth on our only means of escape.

'Oh no! Rolo! Rolo! Get down, boy! Rolo! Rolo!' Eric pleaded, but his commands seemed to have the opposite effect as Rolo continued to bite on the string with evident satisfaction. Until, to our shock and horror, the rope finally snapped.

As the useless bit of cord fell to our feet the little dog bid farewell with a happy, self-important bark and disappeared somewhere out of sight. We stared mutely after him as the events we just witnessed began to sink in, unable to quite shake the impression that this development was less of a result of typical puppy shenanigans and more of the outcome of premeditated malice.

'I’m not sure what you’ve been doing to upset that dog like that, Chapman.' Rudyard was the one to voice what we were all thinking.

'Neither am I. I'm normally quite good with animals. I have a lion taming license, for God's sake. And once I spent an entire year training with Ceasar Millan.' Chapman listed his credentials sadly, disappointed as always when someone didn't like him.

'And look how much good it did for you!' Rudyard proceeded to rub in his nemesis' defeat. 'Take a good long look at what you’ve achieved today, Chapman! Take a good, lonnnng look!'

'Oh, put a sock in it, Rudyard.' Eric snapped, his calm and composure slipping as he bided his time around Rudyard. 'This is hardly my fault. We wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for you. If you climbed out when I asked you to…'

'If you didn't come looking for me..'

'If you could stay out of trouble for half an hour…'

'If you never came to this island…'

'Oh, what's the use?' Chapman asked, throwing his hands in the air, probably to refrain from strangling his ungrateful companion on the spot. Though he looked less angry and more disgruntled, disappointed as ever when Rudyard suggested that he upped and left Piffling. 'If we sit tight we’re bound to get rescued eventually.'

With that, he lowered himself on the unofficial centrepiece of the well - on the mouldy mattress in an advanced stage of decomposition.

'Because that worked out fine for me, didn’t it?' Rudyard sighed heavily, dropping next to Eric with drooping shoulders. 

'They'll have to get us eventually.' 

'Will they?'

'Won't they? They’ll be wondering where we are, I suppose. The Mayor. The Reverend.'

'They've probably forgotten all about me up there.'

'Come on, that’s not true, I bet they're in a right old panic already.' Chapman was eyeing the circle of quickly fading daylight above our head wistfully. 'Calling out the SAS, Interpol, MI5 – which could be awkward…'

'Not if you weren’t down here with me, they wouldn't. I spent eleven years working in the council and not once did they get my name right. And I am lucky if they didn't realize that you are off to rescue _me._ Just out of curiosity, how did the Mayor take it when you told him that you are to get me out of the well?' Rudyard asked, offhandedly, busy tucking his limbs in to preserve some warmth in the quickly cooling environment. It probably caused throws of rebellion in the upper echelons of the Piffling society that they couldn't rid themselves of the troublesome undertaker indefinitely. But Rudyard was clearly hoping to hear that proposition was motioned with only a modicum of reluctance.

'Oh.' Chapman sighed, his hopeful expression falling away, risking a guilty little sideway glance at Rudyard. 'Fair enough. I didn't actually tell him.'

'What?'

'I didn't. Tell him, that is. I wanted to keep it quiet in case the council decides to leave you in the well. So you don't have to climb back down again.'

'B-but that means that we could be stuck down here for days!' 

'That depends.' 

'On what?!' 

'On whether the Reverend can make up his mind or not.'

'This is just perfect, isn’t it?' Rudyard threw his hand in the air. He was probably more disgruntled with the creme of Piffling for not only failing to rescue him but actively discouraging his return. That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't going to take his anger out at Chapman. 'Stuck in the dark until who-knows-when, with you.'

'Getting a bit chilly, isn’t it?' Nodded Chapman, graciously ignoring the implied insults. 

'Must be getting late.' Sighed Rudyard, watching the red of dawn slowly bleed to ink.

'Well, if they don't get us by nightfall, we'll have to huddle together for warmth.' Pondered Chapman with the pragmatism of a trained survivalist.

Rudyard took this news about as much grace and equanimity as you'd expect. That is to say that he jumped up and began to claw at the wall of the well, muttering to himself

"Oh God oh God oh God.'

'Stop trying to climb out, Rudyard. It's no good." 

'You don't know that.' Rudyard snarled then turned his aggravation against the indifferent stones. 'Let me through, you obstinate rocks! It's like talking to a brick wall!'

Making no progress but spending good five minutes scraping his nails bloody, Rudyard simply had to give up at some point. As the darkness deepened around them, Rudyard did what any Piffling resident would when confronted with a seemingly unresolvable conundrum. He turned to Eric. 

'Now look here, can't _you_ just climb out with your bare hands and get some help?'

Eric pushed himself upright again, clamouring in his pocket until he managed to fish out his phone, a thin, sleek, futuristic-looking thing. He approached the rocks of the reservoir while fiddling with something on the screen.

'What are we looking at here… Come on, come on the bloody phone, you cost enough... Ha! There we are! Thank God the torch still works.'

Triumphantly, he trained the beam of the little built-in LED on the circular chasm. 

'So now we can look at bare rock face instead of pitch-black nothing - our hero!' Muttered Rudyard sarcastically, making Eric scowl at him.

'That's gratitude - I was just trying to establish whether this wall is mountable, as you suggested!' 

'And?' Urged Rudyard.

'Not with all this slime around…' Concluded Eric, touching two fingers gingerly to the glistening surface.

'Excuses, excuses.' It was hard to tell whether Rudyard was shaking with grave anticipation or because the temperature was dropping quickly. 'Are you telling me this hasn’t happened to you a long time ago?'

'Oh yeah, it used to happen every day.' Even Chapman was unable to keep the irony out of his voice. Though he was quick to slip into introspection, trying to search his catalogue of unlikely memories and unusual skills. 'No. I've actually never been stuck in a well before. You could say that I am well je-'

'Stop it.'

'Though I did get trapped in a mine once. Thanks to you, in no small part.'

'I've heard that the jury is still out on that one, actually.' Muttered Rudyard with an appropriate amount of discomfiture.

'It does also remind me of the time I was mountaineering in South America. I was halfway up Aconcagua when I slipped and fell into a crevasse.'

'What happened?'

'Someone came and rescued me." 

'Well, that's highly unlikely now, thanks to you deciding to play knight in shining armour, instead of organising a proper rescue mission.'

'Hey, since none of this is actually my fault I’d appreciate it if for once you’d stop giving me a hard time!' Chapman's patience was finally wearing thin, which seemed to cow Rudyard a little bit as he continued in a far gentler voice.

'Yes, alright. Why don’t you stop yelling at me and do something useful – does your phone have any signal or not?' 

'No.'

"Is it because we are so deep beneath the ground?'

'Because we're not in Wavering's bathroom! Bet we can get Georgie on the landline, though.'

He gestured at the well phone, finally spotting the ancient thing by the torchlight.

'Don't be so sure.' Sighed Rudyard. So despondent was he, he didn't even enjoy knowing better than Chapman. 'That phone died half an hour ago.'

'Of course, it did. Listen, all we can do is sit here and wait to be rescued.' Chapman trudged back to the mattress, flopping down once more.

'Exactly - and God knows how long that could take.' Rudyard trailed after him. He sat next to Chapman, as close as his dignity would allow, which was understandable - Eric, who was wearing his usual thin smock like it was the warmest winter parka, seemed to radiate heat. 'Until then it’s just the two of us, trapped here alone, in the dark. Smashing.' 

'Cheer up, Rudyard.' Eric nudged his shoulder. 'Tell you what, let's play a game, pass the time.'

'I had a nightmare like this once.' 

'Do you want to play I spy or Rock-paper-scissors?' 

'I want to be alone!'

'You can't seriously be telling me that you’d rather be stuck down here by yourself!' Eric rolled his eyes. 

'I'd rather be stuck here by myself!' Rudyard repeated spitefully as curled up around his legs once more, resting his cheek on his knees and scrunching his eyes shut, frequenting his own darkness to the darkness of the well. 'Just me and my regrets. At least I wouldn't be expected to talk to someone.'

'So you just want to sit here in silence?'

'Bloody well suits me. Why did you have to come here and impede on my solitude?' 

'Well, I am sorry for trying to save you!' Grumbled Eric with vitriol.

'Apology accepted.'

'I just wanted to help you in any way I can.'

'I don't know what kind of mind games are you playing with me right now but if you are expecting me to believe that this is about you trying to lend a hand then you've got another thing coming.'

'Why do you assume every time I try to help you that I’m playing some kind of mind game?' Eric's voice may have been smaller than usual, but it didn't mean that it wasn't bitter.

'Why else would you want to help me?' Rudyard asked simply. 'What's in it for you?'

Their signature bickering was forceful but sounding muted, strange and echoey in the confinement of the reservoir. 

'I just thought that it wouldn't be nice to be left chucked in a ditch.' Huffed Eric, studying a patch of a shadow to their left intently, even though it was practically indistinguishable from the rest of them.

'So you were trying to do something nice? For me?' Rudyard peered up at him, voice filled with scepticism that he believed to be fully justified.

'Yes, but you put the kibosh on that one pretty quickly.' Eric muttered angrily, touching his hand to his throbbing head.

'That doesn’t make any sense, Chapman, you must see that!' Rudyard burst out, growing agitated and a bit defensive once more. 'No, you probably wanted to get me out of here only to alert the authorities about my blatant disregard for their rulings.' 

'Why would I want to frame you like that?' Yelped Eric.

'Why wouldn't you? It's to eliminate the competition.'

'No, Rudyard.' Eric shook his head in disbelief as Rudyard narrowed his eyes at him.

'I'd do it in a heartbeat.'

'Of course, you would.' 

'We’re in a competitive industry and there's no other logical explanation for you to want to be "nice" to me.' Rudyard argued back, packing as much disgust in the articulation of the word _nice_ as he could. His eyes grew to the size of small plates as he rekindled the flames of his own acute paranoia. 'Perhaps you planned this whole thing from the start, just to get me alone down here!' 

'Oh, for fu- Did the possibility ever enter your mind that if I try to do something genuine or heartfelt or attempt to make friends, it is because I _like_ you?' 

The strange reverb of Eric's words was followed by deep silence as Rudyard contemplated that possibility.

'No, sorry, that's just a noise.' 

'Why can’t you accept the idea that someone would like you for who you really are?' Pleaded Eric. 

'Because you are Eric Chapman and you'll always be Eric Chapman.' Rudyard pointed out the seemingly obvious, the strange cadence of his voice filling his observation with deeper implications.

'What’s that supposed to mean?' Eric demanded.

'It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a fact!' Rudyard protested, growing more shrill the more cornered he felt.

'No come on, what are you saying-'

'Nothing!' 

'Rudyard…' 

'It just means that you've got to have an ulterior motive.' My friend finally exploded. 'That you can only be scheming. Because you never liked me before! And me, I am not…'

Rudyard's voice trailed off as he whispered something neither Eric, nor I could catch in the less than ideal acoustics of the well. 

'Listen, Rudyard' Eric began sternly but not without tact. 'it's actually _you_ who never liked _me_ before.' 

'Now look here, Chapman…' Rudyard's voice flared with indignation once more before Eric cut him off.

'No, you look here, Rudyard.'

'I'm not sure that works.'

Chapman stared at him until he finally caught the other funeral director's gaze. He was confident, but not accusatory as he listed Rudyard's atrocities against him.

'It's you who tries to wreck everything I do, you scorn me every attempt to befriend you –' Reaching a crescendo, Eric's voice became unusually gentle as he continued. 'Whereas personally, I've always considered you a brilliant man. Somehow.' 

The uncertain compliment was probably less impactful than he intended. Rudyard rolled his eyes a little bit, paying back the civility with similarly dubious praise.

'Well, thank you, Chapman. You are also a… man.' 

Chapman chuckled with mirth beside him and gestured at Rudyard, shaking his head with bemusement.

'See? What a joker.' And then, as if almost to himself, he added. 'What's there not to like?'

'Is this a rhetorical question?' Sighed Rudyard, uncomprehending in the face of sympathy as ever. 

'I mean you are… You’re you.' Continued Eric forcefully. He sounded passionate but uncertain like he was talking about something he struggled to grasp but felt strongly about nonetheless. 'So. Out there.'

'Well, that's the problem in a nutshell, isn't it? Because other people would prefer to ignore me.' Snorted Rudyard groggily.

'Rubbish. Other people could get on with their lives.' Chapman boxed his palm with unusual fervour. We'd never heard him speak out against Piffling people before, but presently he was furrowing his brows like he was scowling at someone in particular. 'If they can't see you for the unique and charming man you are, well, then it's their loss I suppose.'

'Easy for you to say, Mr Popular. Everyone likes you. But for me? I am nobody's favourite.'

'Not true.'

'You don't need to lie to me about this. I know that I am an unpopular man and I waste no time dwelling on it.' Rudyard sniffed beside him. He was trying for unaffected but it all came out sounding rather sulky. 

'Listen, you might not be everyone's cup of hot water but that does not change the fact that you are extraordinary. I don't know why do you want people to think that there is nothing more to you than this bitter, all-encompassing darkness. But I happen to see that at the very centre of you, at the bottom of your heart, you are a man of zany exuberance.' Eric talked fast but in a confident manner. If he was a bit overwhelmed he didn't let it deter him. 'And you are full of incredible, sweeping passion and sweetness too.'

'I am most certainly not!' 

'Maybe not towards me, no.' Eric admitted with a lopsided smile. 'But even at the height of our discord, I've always thought that you were pretty great and hoped that we could see more of each other. And if fact, all those plots and schemes and murder attempts of yours kept you in my mind's eye.' 

Taking a shuddering breath Chapman turned to study the toes of his fancy shoes, as he confessed.

'And slowly, but surely, you possessed my heart.'

Rudyard made a little noise of ascent before he added with bloodthirsty cadence.

'And you'd better watch out, Chapman because I'll be coming for your spleen and your liver next.' 

Chapman looked up in horror, only to catch the other man's impish expression. Seeing Rudyard's smile he chuckled with relief. Then laughter slowly bubbled up in him, manifesting as an ungainly snort. 

Now if Chapman's optimism was infectious, his laughter was positively viral. Soon both funeral directors were doubled over with the giggles, gasping for air. Only to burst into renewed fits of merriment every time they caught sight of each other. It's probably that the combination of the wet and the cold and the dark made them ever so slightly hysterical because it took them long minutes to compose themselves from the aftermath of what was a mediocre pun at best. 

'Being this funny is hard work.' Rudyard finally congratulated himself, wiping at his eyes surreptitiously.

'Oh, you absolute sod.' Heaved Chapman, holding his aching diaphragm.

'You should have seen your face.' Rudyard shook his head proudly, reminiscing about his competitor's amusing expression.

'See? Aren't you a card?' Eric nudged him once more.

'Shame that same thing can't be said about you.' Rudyard teased, making Chapman sober somewhat.

'What?' 

'Chapman. I can say to you, unequivocally, as one man to another: this was the most gruelling confession I had to endure. " _You are so you?_ " I mean, weren't you supposed to be a ghostwriter for John Grisham, for heaven's sake?' But while Rudyard's words were critical, the delivery did not match the solemnity of them. He was still grinning and the malice of his voice was tamed by his mirth. It was obvious that he was struggling to suppress more laughter as he was aiming to get a rise out of Chapman. Who, predictably enough, decided to take offence nevertheless.

'I was trying to be sincere!' He complained, flushing red, pouting angrily.

'And after all that talk about your prowess as an orator!' Continued Rudyard with pleasure, clearly only gearing up. "Oooh, Chapman he can keep it light but like totally emotional". Where's that famed balance between content and banter now, Chapman? Or did you not give a TED Talk on the Finnish education system once?'

'I can't believe you!' Moaned Eric, trying to hide his flushing countenance in his palms to no avail; the most becoming blush was creeping down all the way to his neck. 'How the Hell did I fall in love with such an absolute flipping nightmare?' 

'Don't you call me a nightmare!' Gasped Rudyard indignantly, causing Chapman to resurface, obviously delighted to find a chink in his armour. 

'Nightmare!' He taunted merrily, his ear-splitting grin matching Rudyard's. 'Nightmare!'

Determined to put an end to the humiliation and to shut up his nemesis, Rudyard reached up and hooked his fingers around Chapman's lapels, tugging him forcefully down by the fine material…

And then the unthinkable happened. Because Rudyard Funn was kissing Eric Chapman squarely on the lips.

Things were prevented from going down on a lurid path, however, when a shout interrupted us once more. 

'Oi, sir?'

Rudyard broke the kiss as abruptly as he'd started it, leaving Eric high and dry, turning after him like a plant seeking light. Jumping to his feet, the older Funn rushed to the wall, shouting.

'Georgie. Over here.'

A head popped up over the rim of the well, but it did not belong to Funn Funerals' splendid dogsbody.

'Rudyard there you are!'

'Haven't been anywhere!' Grumbled Rudyard at his twin sister. 'I am hardly mobile in here. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the cinema?' 

'I could hardly focus on _Ce cheval peut parler allemand_ after the line cut out, could I? Which is a real shame, because it's said to be “perniciously bereft of dialogue, pacing, and plot.” Bloody typical of you, trying to stop me having a life and survive some quality cinema by creating all this drama and waving it in my face!' Rudyard's twin sister complained.

'Antigone.' He smiled smugly. 'Were you worried?' 

'No, just annoyed.' Huffed Antigone.

'Ok, sir.' Georgie suddenly appeared. 'We are going to lower you a rope and you will have to… Is that Chapman over there?' 

'Hello, Georgie.' The funeral director finally pushed himself on his feet. 

'Hello, Eric.' A vicious smile appeared on Georgie's lips. 'Enjoying yourself?' 

And even though she couldn't possibly have been making a lewd remark, Eric grew an even deeper shade of crimson.

'Look, never mind about him now.' Rudyard waved his arms, looking a bit flustered himself. ' _I'_ ve been in this well for ages!'

'Rudyard I am only one person!' Georgie rolled her eyes in exasperation but returned her attention to devising some means of escape for us. 

'What are you doing here, Chapman?' Asked Antigone softly, eyeing their rival as he stood at the bottom of the well. 

'I came to find your brother.'

'So why do you look so miserable?'

'Because it was hard.' 

'And why didn't you climb out by now?'

'Well, Rudyard was-'

'Ah, that explains it.'

'Alright, sir we are going to get you out now. Eric, give him a leg up so I can pull him out.'

'Or I could climb out first and help so you wouldn't have to struggle alone.'

'No need. I am great at getting people out of wells.' 

'Then why do I need to give him a leg up?' 

'Eric!' Hissed Georgie, gnashing her teeth. 'Leg up! Now!'

'Alright, alright…' Turning to his rival he quietly pleaded. 'But don’t kick me in the face.'

Chapman crouched obediently, cradling Rudyard's foot, levelling him towards freedom. With his and Georgie's combined effort, the funeral director was dragged to the surface - though he did manage to kick Eric swiftly in the face with his ungainly flailing.

'Ooop, sorry – it’s not my fault.' Rudyard called down with unusual concern. 'You were in the way.'

Eric muttered something under his breath and through the pain. Then he scooped me up from where I was still a bit lost in taking frantic notes on the back of a postage stamp and he swiftly climbed out himself. Hopping onto his feet he looked at their reluctant rescuers. Georgie sat by the well, left somewhat breathless by the effort of pulling a funeral director, considerably bigger than her, out of a well. He objectively knew that Antigone was probably lurking out there somewhere, but she was presently hidden by the shadows. Chapman offered a hand to Georgie, dragging her to her feet.

'You know, for a minute there I thought you might pack away the rope before I'd get a chance to get out.' He chuckled.

'Funny, for a minute there, I did too.' Offered Georgie with a mirthless smile. Eric swallowed audibly at that.

'Can you two stop flirting for a minute' Growled Antigone, revealing herself to be standing under a shady pine tree. 'and tell me this- where has my sodding gotten to again?'

We all looked desperately about ourselves, but she was right. Rudyard was nowhere to be seen.

'For flip's sake!' Moaned Georgie, who'd barely recovered from saving him the first time around. Gathering herself she cranked her neck and sighed with apathy. 'Right, I guess we’d better get searching.'

'We should split up so we cover more ground.' Agreed Eric.

'Who said anything about you coming?' 

'Think about this, Georgie. It would take you twice as long to find him in these woods alone. By then he'd have had plenty of opportunities to die from exposure or by simply breaking his neck,' 

'He's got a point there…' Muttered Antigone, causing Georgie to snap.

'No, he hasn't. The woods aren’t that big.'

'They’re incredibly dense.' Argued Eric.

'But they’re Not. That. Big.'

'But they are - and let me reiterate this - incredibly dense. I mean, where would you even start?' 

'Well, we can probably rule out anywhere that wasn’t the woods he entered two seconds ago!' 

'Oh, let the fool play the hero if he's so desperate.' Antigone commanded. 

'But Antigone, he probably just wants to find Rudyard to murder him.'

'He's not alone there.' 

'I'm serious.' 

'So am I. Georgina, he had plenty of opportunities to do just that, stuck in the well with Rudyard. Yet my brother is still out there, getting himself in trouble. I think we can give him a pass just this once.' 

'Fine. But I've got my eyes on you, Chapman.' 

'Georgie, I assure you, my intentions are perfectly benign.'

'Yeah, whatever.'

With that, the two women of Funn Funerals trudged towards the northern peripheries of the Piffling Woods while Eric jogged off the opposite way. I clung fiercely to his shoulder, desperate to find out what had happened to my best friend - and sensing that this chapter was likely to sell most copies of the fifth sequel of Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse (available in hardback and ebook!) 

We had found Rudyard a little while later - under a pedunculate oak tree where he had somehow gotten his left shoe stuck in the fork of a low hanging branch. He was trying, uselessly, to retrieve it without having to put his foot down, making it muddy in the bog. 

'Rudyard!' Called out Eric with relief, causing the other funeral director to snap his head up and lose his balance, placing his gingerly held foot in the smack middle of a puddle. 

'Oh, it's wet!' He called out angrily, glaring at his toes. 'It's really wet!' 

Then he narrowed his eyes at Eric.

'Well, Chapman?' He demanded.

'No. My face still hurts from where you kicked it.' Eric complained, cradling his slowly swelling nose.

'No, I mean what do you want?'

Looking up, suddenly bashful, Eric grew flush once more and not from the injuries he sustained while saving Rudyard. 

'A word, Rudyard.' He said softly, ambling closer to my friend. 'What happened, in the well... That was important.' 

'I don't know what you are referring to, Chapman.' Rudyard shook his head, sounding slightly panicked, backing away.

'You kissed me, remember?' Eric pointed out with gentle amusement.

'Oh, don’t rub it in, we all make mistakes.' Growled Rudyard, looking everywhere but at him.

'Mistakes?!'

'Of course, you realise, that this doesn't change anything. There’s still room for only one funeral home on this island. The war, as they say, is still very much on.'

'Rudyard... it’s not worth it. The competition. There’s no point.'

'You mean because you’re bound to beat us anyway?'

'No! Well – no, what I mean is-'

'Right. So that’s the way the wind’s blowing, is it? Because you think you corner the entire funeral market already!'

'Oh for God – look, Rudyard, I don’t care about this rivalry! You win, alright? You win! I concede defeat! 

'I told you, I don’t need your pity!'

'And I told you it's not pity! That kiss. It meant something, back there. Couldn't you feel it?'

'Let me tell you what means something, Chapman. Continuing a family tradition many centuries in the making. Running a business that dates back as far as the 15th century. That means something!' Spat Rudyard, only to lose his bravado and spite halfway and proceed to stare ahead of himself, muttering. 'Doesn’t it?'

'If you want it to, yes.' Said Eric bitterly, causing something in Rudyard's expression to harden. 

'Well, I won’t stand idly by and be defeated.' Cried Rudyard, colour rising to his cheek, a curious shine appearing in his eyes. 'And I won't stop until I run your business to the ground, even if that's the last thing I do.' 

'Rudyard…' Eric tried to cut in, his brows knotted in a furrow of concern.

'Because if I am getting destroyed, I am getting destroyed with dignity. I-'

'Rudyard!' Chapman finally made him halt. 'Is anything the matter? You started to sweat. Very visibly.' 

'I’m just really very hot.' Complained Rudyard, swaying slightly on his feet. Finally, he knees buckled, but Chapman was by his side by then, propping him up by sneaking his hands under his rival's arm.

'Whoop, OK.' He crooned and he touched the back of his hand to Rudyard's perspiring forehead. Whatever he'd felt there made him look even more displeased, but he forced some cheer in his voice as he tried to help back Rudyard on his feet. 'We should get you to bed, eh? Would you like that? Course you would. It's nothing that some nice food and a cup of hot water won't fix - strong, as you like it –'

'What are you doing Chapman?' Rudyard muttered, becoming confused and delirious quickly, which was unsurprising given that he'd spent long hours in a well, tired, hungry, cold and, frankly, emotionally exhausted. He struggled to get away from Chapman's strong, enveloping arms, but to no avail. So finally giving in he simply squinted up to the other man. 'And why are there two of you?' 

'Listen.' Sighed Eric, his worry evident in his quivering voice, sounding like he was thinking he'll run out of courage to say his piece if he didn't press on. 'I am not saying that I see eye to eye with you on this. But I know how much it means to you, this business. And I’d totally understand if you’d rather be with someone… well, anyone other than me. So I'm not dying on this hill. But neither should you.'

'Chapman-' Rudyard began in a small voice, but Eric talked over him, firmly.

'You need bed rest and possibly even a doctor. So all I’m saying – no – begging you, is to let me help you.'

'Fine.' Rudyard conceded, teeth chattering as he grew steadily more feverish. 'But I will repay you somehow, even if it kills you.' 

'It will only kill _you_ if we waste much more time prattling on.' Eric urged him as they began to make their slow, unsteady way.

'Is that a threat?' Rudyard growled weakly, his steps wavering like a newborn foal's.

''That's it, lean on me.' Eric encouraged him softly, ignoring any accusations, however unfairly uttered. 'Will you be able to walk all the way to Funn Funerals?' 

'What choice do I have?'

'For God's sake. Come here, you stupid…' With that Chapman nudged one arm under Rudyard's knees, picking him up in the bridal fashion.

'Chapman.' Whispered Rudyard into his suit jacket, his groggy head lolling against Eric's chest.

'Yes?'

'I want the record to show that I am only doing this because you were begging me.'

'Of course.' Eric agreed, his voice the aural equivalent of an eye roll.

And that was the moment, dear readers, when I decided to jump down from his shoulder, staying behind, assured that I can get a lift back to my funeral home from the local fauna. I wish I could say that I was trying to give the two undertakers some semblance of privacy, that I didn't want to pry - but in reality, there was little else I wanted to do! I was still reeling from the recent brainwave I experienced, however, and needed some time to process it all.

Because a lot of what we've been through the past months with my best friend just started to make sense! What happened at Rudyard's birthday… the aftermath of that disastrous Christmas… what I've witnessed at the first aid course… the events of the Bachelor Auction… they all suddenly clicked into place!

What can I say? Apart from how the newest chapter of my magnum odyssey was shaping up to be the most exciting yet! 

_*_

_If you enjoyed this extract from the fifth instalment of "Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse - More Mouse, More Funeral" then why not purchase it now for only £5.99 plus shipping when you order directly from us online? Critiques across the board have praised this dramedy series - the accomplished impresario Marlena Magdalena went as far as to say "... the story is magnificent."* for the Cirqueon Magazine. And you can have it now for only £5.99 plus shipping when you order from our website. Visit www.penguinrandommouse.com/Piffling._

_*"It is long. It is boring. It is overwrought. The dialogue's crap but the story is magnificent." Interviewed by Veronika Stefanova for _Cirqueon Magazine_ (2020) Volume 5, Issue 18 _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic that is less of a "love letter to canon" and more of a "ransom letter I scissored together from original text from the series while holding the canon at gunpoint, hostage to my whims"! ;)


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